


In Too Deep

by PandaMega



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaMega/pseuds/PandaMega
Summary: Zoro/Sanji Three years apart vanish like smoke when they see each other again.





	In Too Deep

**Author's Note:**

> For ZoSan week 2018 Day 5 on tumblr!  
> Prompt: Undercover

The shuddering ambiance of the rhythmic tap-tapping of rain on metal roofing was a quiet echo in the stillness of the space. Smoke hung thickly in the musty air, swirling up in lazy streams, still and undisturbed until the man moved again. Shifting his knees to re-cross his legs, he leaned back in the plush chair, the only piece of furniture on the warehouse floor, out of place and imposing. Two men stood behind him, their breathing steady, patient, their arms relaxed on the automatic rifles slung in front of them. Sanji has done this so many times now it’s become second nature. His past life, his mission, despite being a distant memory, was the undercurrent pulling him through the nightmare of this act, this role he plays so well.

One elbow rested on the arm of his chair, chin resting casually upon his fingers as he stroked the fine strands of his goatee, sucking gently at the cigarette between his lips, waiting. He didn’t know what to expect, who to expect. Probably a new face in the force, but there was always the possibility of it being someone from his past life. His blood was energized despite his calm appearance, blue eyes trained on the heavy metal door before him. Familiar face or not, he wouldn’t react. His cover was too deep. He does this too well. But the thought of one man stirs his chest even after all these years, a faint echo of a past longing stitched into his soul. But he wouldn’t falter, even if it was him. He was in too deep.

The sound of a car approaching, tires splashing through deep pools of rain and a man on the scaffolding by a high window turned to nod in Sanji’s direction. It’s them. Sanji’s heart was calm. 

With a metallic screech the doors slide open and four men step into the warehouse, confident but guarded. Sanji only sees one of them. It’s him. In the front, hair wet and mussed from the rain, green as ever, and face just as stern and strong as he remembers, it’s his old rival, old friend, old lover. A pretend stranger.

Three years of longing and heartache and separation disappeared like smoke. Three years of healing, learning to be alone again, learning to breathe without him, crumbled into ash. Three years of wondering what to say, reliving precious moments, dreaming of the day he’d see him again, fell away like scattered petals. The emotions were just as raw and fresh and unbridled as the last time they’d met.

Sanji stands, face conveying nothing nothing, yielding nothing. The men behind him are not just there to protect him. Three years underground was a short time, enough to gain respect but not enough to gain trust.

“You have it?”

Sanji’s voice was calm, smooth, deadly.

The man with green hair allowed a calculated smile to cross his face as he reached into his coat.

The men behind Sanji stiffened, grips tightening around their guns, but Sanji raised a hand to signal them to stand down. It was all for show.

The green haired man, a police detective, produced an envelope, which Sanji took gratefully, placing the cigarette to his lips while skimming through the contents.

“Excellent.”

The detective nodded.

“Blackbeard appreciates your cooperation, Detective…?” Sanji hummed, tucking the envelope into his coat pocket and extending a hand casually. 

“Roronoa,” The man provided, eyes flicking down to the hand then back up to Sanji’s eyes. They revealed nothing. They hide the fact that Sanji knows the name so well he could say it in his sleep. “Zoro Roronoa,” He has said it countless times, screamed it in anger and cried it in desperation and moaned it into long forgotten bedsheets. 

Detective Zoro Roronoa took the hand in a firm grasp, not too powerful nor too gentle.

Zoro’s touch was just how he remembered it.

Their fingers lingered, eyes locked on each others, searching. Outwardly they appear to be locked in a challenge, inwardly there were both desperately trying to convey things too impossible to say aloud.

_ I’m still waiting for you. _

The slightest of tremors echoes in Sanji’s fingers and he hides it with a small squeeze.

There’s a flash of understanding in Zoro’s eyes and he squeezes back.

Their hands linger just a millisecond too long, slipping out of the other’s grasp unwillingly.

The thought slips into Sanji’s head as he feels his hand go cold without the touch.

_ I would blow my cover for you. _

It would never come to that, but the thought is thrilling and the hurt is deep and dizzying all the same.

He exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hand returns to his side, empty.

Flashbacks of the other hand, fingers intertwined in his, that hand behind his neck, lacing into his hair, sliding over his body as if he owned it. 

Zoro took a step back, eyes flicking over Sanji’s body once, twice, ensuring he was whole, ensuring he was real and alive and unchanged. Their eyes met one last time, revealing nothing, and Zoro turned away. 

The four men walked out of the door and back into the rain.

Sanji watched him go, wondering if he’d live to see him again.


End file.
